


You can't program humans to love each other (good thing I love you anyway)

by katiamarkovitch



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecure Tony Stark, Irish Steve Rogers, Italian Tony Stark, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Rehabilitation, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Steve Really Loves Tony and Tony Really Loves Steve, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:52:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9098320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiamarkovitch/pseuds/katiamarkovitch
Summary: He didn't believe - didn't want to believe because being let down would hurt so much more than this - the elder man when he held him closer, murmuring that yes, Tony would fall in love with someone and even if they didn't love him back, someone would. Tony thought someone was stupid. The soulmate au that literally nobody asked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tesoro (Italian) = darling, translates literally to 'treasure'
> 
> Mo Chuisle (Irish) = literally means 'my pulse'
> 
> Anamchara (Irish) = Irish for 'soulmate'

1

 

Four days after the battle of New York, Clint moved into the Stark Tower. He'd shown up, dark rings around his bloodshot eyes, a smile peaking through his cracked lips.

Tony didn't look much better.

"No." Had been his first three answers, Clint's foot caught between the door.

"You wouldn't turn a friend out into the streets, would you?" Clint must've taking his silence as Tony resigning, and slipped past the stunned billionaire.

Friend?

Tony Stark was many things - worthless, useless, pathetic, fake, heartless, spoiled, unloved, too much, narcissistic - but _friend?_

The next morning Tony awoke to a very heated game of checkers between JARVIS and his new housemate. When Clint had waved him over, shouting for a tie breaker because _there was no way he was loosing to some stupid shitty Star Wars cast off,_  Tony panicked. He had muttered something about faulty SHIELD technology and ran back to his lab, where he drank a bottle and a half of cheap scotch, fisting his hair in between greased fingers.

Natasha came next, because wherever Hawkeye went Black Window followed. (Though he'd never admit it Tony had a soft spot for the red haired Russian, and turning away a highly trained spy wouldn't be the last thing he did)

Her addition to his previous cycle of self hate and sleep deprivation was knives. Though he knew taking one would be the end of his days, he wouldn't use the blade unless if that was exactly what he wanted.

Two months after the battle of New York Tony stumbled into the kitchen, feet covered by the bottoms of his blue plaid pajama pants, his fingers curled around the sleeves of his MIT sweatshirt to find the avenges circled around the table, a stack of pancakes between Bruce and Thor.

"I hope you don't mind us living here." Steven Grant Rogers, _Captain America_ , stated. "Clint said it was alright." Tony forced a smile, pouring enough coffee into his chipped cup to keep God awake for a week. (He was a Stark and Starks had to be better than God.)

"You look like you're about to fall over." Natasha commented over the purple mug Pepper got him for his birthday. "Banner made too many pancakes anyways."

Tony laughed, trying hard to keep the sound upbeat and happy when all he wanted to do was scream until he couldn't breathe any longer.

"Awe Natashalie you do care." He joked, putting a blistered hand to his chest, over the arc reactor. Steve rolled his eyes, super human jaw clenching. Tony quickly backed off.

Yes, he _knew_ Steve would never think about him like that. Yes, he _knew_ soulmarks - whoever thought up that idea deserved a bullet through the brain - meant nothing, but Tony was pathetic, and he clung to the fantasy someone could love him.

When he speed walked out of his kitchen, he was surprised his mug didn't break in his white knuckled grip, the sound of the Avengers laughing making his skin crawl.

  
❧

  
From what little he had seen of Howard when he was at the mansion, he never had a soulmark. Maria though, had the name _Jason_ wrapped around her ear so gently that it fell against her olive skin like a lock of hair.

Jarvis had told him, curling a soft arm around his shoulder so as not to jostle the broken wrist Tony had received after asking the same innocent question, that not everyone fell in love with their soulmate, because people are not like machines. He had said that you couldn't program humans to love someone, because then it wouldn't be love, but something akin to tolerance. The soulmarks were just guidelines, and 75% of the people with marks chose different people.

Tony repeated what Howard had screamed at him, twisting his seven year old sons arm further behind his back, and Jarvis froze.

He didn't believe - didn't want to believe because being let down would hurt so much more than this - the elder man when he held him closer, murmuring that yes, Tony would fall in love with someone and even if they didn't love him back, _someone_ would.

Tony thought someone was stupid.

When he created JARVIS Tony gave to AI free emotional range, and destroyed the switch that gave Tony full control. He would rather die than be connected to someone who could only tolerate him.

In his first year at MIT, the name **Steven Grant Rogers** appeared on the inside of his forearm, and the next day Tony swallowed a bottle of pills.

If Howard's stories were true and Tony knew they were because Peggy told them down to the same detail, and Aunt Peggy would not lie to him - would she? - Steven Grant Rogers would not want one Anthony Edward Stark.

Rhodey found out after a few to many bottles, when he had followed Tony onto the roof, watching transfixed as the billionaires son broke down in loud screams ripped from the sixteen year olds lungs of _he wouldn't want this!_  

The next day Tony woke up to a massive hangover, a sore throat, salty tear tracks down his face and his name. Written messily on Rhodey's hand in permanent marker.

Tony broke down for an entirely different reason.

Maybe he could be loved?

Then Afghanistan and Yinsen and Ten Rings and Obadiah and he threw himself off of the Stark tower.

Flying seemed to be just as fun without Iron Man.

Pepper found him in the middle of a pool - the only pool he'd been in since - of his own blood. Gentle fingers pulled the shard of glass out of his shaking ones and the salt from her tears on his arm made him flinch.

She cried harder.

He met Steven Grant Rogers on May 16th 2012. With hope he didn't know - didn't think - he still had, Tony covered his arm, fingers ghostly lightly over thick scars.

_Big man in a suit of armour. Take that off, what are you? I know guys with none of that worth ten of you._

He calls Rhodey before he jumps this time.

The wormhole wasn't planned.

Okay, none of them were planned, but it's a lot easier to find a knife that it is a portal to another realm.

 _Finally_. He thinks, falling through nothing, more scared than he thought he would be. Tony smiles when he looses consciousness. _Finally._

When he wakes up he wants to scream. Wants lay here until he stops breathing because it shouldn't be this hard to die. But Steve is standing there, looking slightly worried, and the name on Tony's arm burns and he pulls himself together.

He shouldn't be surprised or hurt. (Hurt doesn't seem to be the right word. His heart feels like it's tearing itself apart it hopes to be put back together into something Steve could fall in love with. After all that's what Tony does isn't it? Fix things?)

Steve hates him. Hell, Tony hates himself so why should the hero of America lo-like him?

He refuses to think anyone could use love in a sentence with Tony Stark.

  
❧

  
"You got a jacuzzi in this place?" Clint asks, standing in front of him, holding a cup of coffee. "Pool? Bathtub? Anything like that?"

The funny thing is Tony can feel his heart start to race. In slow motion he can feel the panic, growing larger and larger until its washing over him in waves. Fucking waves.

"Sorry birdbrain." He replies, keeping his eyes on the new prototype of Natasha's bites because he knows if he looks up Clint will see the fear in his eyes and Stark men are made of iron. "But I hear the community has a nice birdbath, excuse me - pool."

Clint snorts, and Tony feels slightly better. The archer set the coffee next to a pizza box, a single slice taken out of it.

"Must be nice." He began, letting the lid fall back over the uneaten food. "Having so much money."

Tony hummed, holding a spare wire between his lips, trying to pretend the older man wasn't there.

"Steve was right about you."

Tony holds the screwdriver a little tighter so that Clint can't see how badly his hand is shaking.

"You only care about yourself, fuck everybody else right?" When Tony doesn't move, Clint continues, anger spitting from his lips. "How much are you paying Pepper to stay? Or Colonial Rhodes? How much must you give that man so that he stays with your pathetic ass?"

He's wrong.

Isn't he?

"Mr Barton I believe it is time for you to leave." JARVIS sounds so much like his namesake Tony wants to cry. Or maybe he wants to cry because Clint sounded so much like Howard.

Clint seemed to realize what he said, face paling into a shade similar to the pill bottle in Tony's dresser drawer. He nods, stumbling out of the lab with slumped shoulders.

It took three bottles of scotch before Tony could start on the plans for a new pool without throwing up.

(Even if he did he could blame it on the alcohol.)

Tony wanted to believe that the way Natasha's eyes lit up when Clint brought her out to unmask what was apparently a birthday gift, was enough. Or the way Steve shook his hand, thanking him for what he had done was enough.

Tony stayed long enough to see all of this, stumbling to the elevator when the sounds of splashing reached his ears.

He stayed, curled up in the corner of the metal box, hands clasped over his ears until he could breathe again. Until he couldn't hear Raza or Yinsen. Or feel Obadiah's hands crawling around his shoulder. Not moving, not breathing, pain, _pain_ , **_pain_** , as the one thing keeping him alive is ripped from his chest.

It shouldn't matter that he had another panic attack.

Natasha was happy.

Steve was happy.

Tony spent the next few nights on the roof of the Stark tower, wondering if Rhodey would be there to grab him before he hit the ground.

He wondered if he would care if he didn't.

  
❧

 

Tony can't say he didn't tell him so.

The golems weren't as stupid as the team thought. Tony though, Tony had noticed the way they adapted to Natasha's backflip, sending her to the ground when it should've been the monster sprawled out on the dirt.

It took Clint getting at stone covered with his own arrows thrown in his direction for the idea to finally take root in his head.

If it had been Thor or Clint - anybody but _Tony_ \- this wouldn't have happened. But it was Tony and even though he was in the suit, he sounded like himself on the coms.

Maybe if he changed his voice to Iron Man's they would listen?

"Change your pattern!" Tony had shouted, or tried to. The dust was choking, coating the inside of his throat so much like Afghanistan he wasn't sure he would be able to breathe, even without the damn dust.

"Iron Man, keep your position!" Captain America ordered, tossing his shield in a spiral that almost had a higher death toll than Tony himself.

Except he had already done this.

The golem should've toppled.

The shield should've hit its neck with unmatched power.

_Steve should've listened to Tony._

The world seemed to stop spinning. Or maybe it was spinning so quickly that it was tearing the breath from his lungs because _this was not happening._  

As if in slow motion, the golem reached up, catching the shield in between clay fingers.

A large grotesque grin slowly spread its way across the monsters face, and the shield was thrown - faster, harder, _**harsher**_ \- back at its creator.

 

 

2

 

  
Steve wasn't entirely sure when he fell totally, uncontrollably, overwhelmingly, desperately, in love with one Anthony Edward Stark.

It was true, yes, that when he first met the son of Howard Stark, his world fell apart around him once again, leaving him standing - the serum would make sure he was still standing - amidst a life that could've, _should've_ been his.

Steve had - hopelessly, foolishly - thought that Anthony could be his last connection to himself. To Peggy. Bucky. To the apartment in Brooklyn and his mother and the howling commandos and the life he had worked so hard to deserve.

The life the had been torn away fast enough to leave his head spinning and his lungs gasping for a breath that would never come because he were freezing from the inside out-.

But Anthony, Anthony was _Tony_. A fiery, sarcastic, messy haired man made up of alcohol and sex and Steve wanted to scream.

Where Howard was humorous Tony was cruel. Tony, a man composed of nothing but silver spoons and stolen blood was nothing like the man who had flown him through a war zone to save someone he had barley met.

His old friend all soft edges, cigarette smoke and fondue, and his son dark eyes, violence, and anger.

At the time he had meant ever word he had sneered.

He wanted somebody in this century to feel the pain and the darkness and the _desperation_ Steve felt. He wanted to see this man show something akin to his father, and the fact that he brushed of his words with yet another biting retort, smiling all the same-.

Steve was burning up from the inside and this man was handing him a wine glass full of gasoline.

It made him that much more outraged when he woke up the next morning with **Anthony Edward Stark** across his hipbone.

But he was Captain America and he swallowed his emotions and picked up his shield and fought for what the world deserved.

_Did he deserve this?_

Tony Stark was reckless and overbearing and brave and heroic and such and enigma it made Steve's head spin.

He had meant what he said - _You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you_ \- which is why seeing Iron Man fall from the sky was that much more shocking.

Steve's breath caught in his throat, remembering Bucky and the way time seemed to stop as he fell slowly, _so slowly_ and then all at once and the reality of what was going to happened hit him and he felt as though he was submerged in ice all over again. Freezing where he stood.

And then the hulk - Bruce Banner - leapt from a broken building to pull a broken man out of the sky.

Time seemed to start again and Steve was standing over Anthony Edward Stark, Tony, his hip burning and the ground seemed to fall out from beneath him.

Impossibly, the man woke up gasping, all wild eyes and frantic fingers and Steve's world re-centered itself.

Being born in the 1920's he had no earthly idea what shawarma was, but he found himself laughing and helping a dead man off of shattered pavement, New York falling together around them.

  
❧

  
The next time he had seen - _truly seen_ \- Tony Stark was a few weeks after he moved into the Stark tower. It wasn't an arrangement he was entirely comfortable with, but living with people gave him a purpose and a reason and Captain America wanted to be small enough to hide behind his shield again.

The library had become Steve's recluse from iPhones and Apple T.V's and the reminders that he was living a dead mans life. The library was also the only place Steve could be alone, which is why seeing one Tony Stark curled up around a couch cushion made him stop breathing.

Quietly, softly, so as not to wake the engineer, Steve settled into the couch next to the man he had seen only once or twice, long fingers wrapped around a coffee mug and dark circles telling stories of silent screams and dark rooms.

Because he was 'six foot hunk' as Natasha had said, the couch slouched towards him and sent the smaller man tumbling into his lap. Steve had frozen - as still and unmoving as he had been under the ice, but so, _so much warmer_ \- and tentatively brushed a lock of soft black hair away from Tony's face.

A deep frown was etched into the other males face, fingers curling around his own arms, knees drawing up to his chest as light shiver began to take hold of his body. Tony Stark was composed of quiet mewls, shivering fingertips and fast breaths and Steve never hated anger more.

Steve's hip began to burn, the same sharp, bruising, subtle _wrongness_ , he had felt when the man curled around himself lying in Steve's lap wasn't breathing.

_What was wrong with him?_

Tony's hair was softer than Steve thought - not that he thought about Tony's hair - and Steve felt the tension leave the other man as he began to slowly brush his fingers through the dark locks.

When Steve first met Tony Steve was a man who had lost everything. A man who had woken up with nothing but expectations and every step Steve took seemed to shatter another fleeting hope that his world wasn't over.

When Steve Rogers first met Tony Stark he could not see past Howard and he may have destroyed his only chance to the man he had found himself falling for. May've splintered this beautiful man who held himself with the very things Steve had torn down without a second glance.

When Steven Grant Rogers first met Anthony Edward Stark he didn't notice that the future wasn't all bad. Didn't notice the soft edges and shy smiles, and the feeling that he was whole and happy and could live a thousand lifetimes with Howard Stark's son.

And finally, laying on the frayed red couch with Tony wrapped around his abdomen, light breaths ghosting over his stomach, did the pain, and desperation and longing for the life he lost, stop.

  
❧

  
He should've listened to Tony.

_He should've listened to Tony._

**He should've listened to Tony.**

Steve watched with a sick horror as the golem caught his shield, watched as its carved face broke open into a terrifying grin, holding his safety with two fingers before hurling it towards the only one who mattered.

 

3

 

It hurts almost as much as having the car battery welded into his chest. It hurts almost as much as having his sternum torn out to make room for a rusty dirty hunk of metal. It hurts almost as much as seeing Yinsen splayed out on the seeds, bleeding - _dying_ \- he always was a good role model.

Tony can't breathe.

The shield hit him with such force he didn't realize what was happening at first. Didn't feel anything but numbness for so _s o_ **l o n g** \- than all at once he was hit with a different kind of pa-.

Screaming. Someone was - He was - standing? Watching, waiting, wishing, dying? - Steve was - screaming, Tony, _Tony_ , **_Tony_** \- Steve was here?

Yes, Steve Rogers sat next to him, Tony Stark, reaching a - shivering, shaking (or maybe that was him?) - hand to his face. Tony tried to listen, but it _hurt_ \- the ground below him was turning red alarmingly quickly.

All at once the sound returned and Tony could hear himself screaming, crying - dying - He didn't think he had ever seen Captain America look so scared.

Natasha was thrown into the wall next to him - when had he gotten to the barn? - and his arm lit up in raging, overwhelming, waves of pain. Fucking waves. The waves continued down his chest, down his abdomen, to his legs - churning, crashing, _burning_ -.

Six times the charm?

"Tony, Tony please-."

Tony tried to say something. Tried to tell Steve that he shouldn't be crying because it didn't look- that was a lie. The good captain still looked as beautiful as did the first time they met. Beautiful blue eyes swimming - first time in years swimming looked so wonderful-.

Something was in his throat, and he was coughing(though it felt more like he was repeatedly shoving a scalpel into his lungs). Big, violent, heaving, uncontrollable coughing.

There was blood in his mouth. On his face. On the ground. On his fingers and legs and arms and Steve-.

A finger gently - softly, like the wind - brushed the red liquid away from his lips - hovering, waiting, hoping? -.

"-sorry. I am so sorry."

Steve. Steve was talking. Crying. Steve was sad because of him?

"Please be okay. I can't loose you too. Just a little longer-."

Tony tried to lift his hand (he stopped himself from thinking about the other, ablaze with an agony he hadn't felt since Steve's name appeared on his arm) but he managed a few inches before it fell back into the dirt - blood.

"'teve."

There. Tony couldn't help the small burst of pride at managing the halfword, even with his body in shreds. Steve smiled - seriously why were there even wars in the first place? One look at this man and -

"-ony I'm here. Tony?"

He tried to move his hand again, only managing a twitch of his fingers-. Which was okay because Steve covered Tony's hand with his own and brought their hands up to Steve's face for him-.

"Don' cry."

Tony whispered, frowning because that only made the captain sob harder. What was he doing wrong? Knowing he could move at least one finger, Tony brushed the pad of his ring finger across Steve's cheek.

This wasn't the worst way to go.

"No! NO! Tony! Tony please, you can't do this!"

Steve's hands tightened around his, and the pain was back - throbbing, pulsing - Tony was thrashing in Steve's arms because the blood was chocking and he couldn't breathe, so he couldn't _scream_ -.

Someone was picking him up, moving him away from the blood, and dirt, and pain, and **Steve** -.

Suddenly Tony found if he pushed hard enough he could scream, and he did loudly and breathlessly until Steve was next to him again.

"-here. I'm here Tony. You're okay, were just going to a hospital because you are going to make it. God, Tony plea-."

Tony didn't realize it was Steve's name he was shrieking.

 

 4

 

Tony couldn't move. Tony couldn't move and there were people - surrounding, chocking, _killing_ , h i m ? - Blindly, he pulled away from the voices above him, a dull throbbing settling itself behind his eyes.

He was scared.

Hands were - reaching, pulling, grabbing, _hurting_ \- all over him, holding him down. Mindlessly, Tony flailed away from everything, curling his knees up to his chin.

"Tony?"

Softer, gentler fingers ran through his hair, pulling back when he flinched, but coming back even lighter - but so much stronger - Something sharp brushed over the skin on his arm and Tony whimpered, wrapping his arms around himself tighter and a voice - soft, loud, warm, here, Steve? - hissed something angrily, all the while murmuring comforting nothings in Tony's ear.

"'teve?" He mewled, blinking up at relieved sky blue eyes. The older man smiled, letting out a small breath of air. Peppermint?

"Yeah, Tones. It's me."

He relaxes at this, sinking into the warmth of Steve's voice. The fingers fall from his hair to his arm, and suddenly he can't breathe.

 **Steven Grant Rogers** , written in black ink on his arm. **Steven Grant Rogers** , written above a scar - thick and ugly and violent - another reminder that he deserved to be alone - Steven Grant Rogers tracing his name, written in black ink above the word worthless, carved with scotch and pain and deaths own scythe.

"You should've told me."

Steve sounds sad. Tony would be too, if he found out that he was his soulmate.

"Only 25% of people fall in love with their soulmate." Tony blurts out, pulling away from Steve, from his fingers and voice and the warm feeling that seems to fill him up when he looks at the other man. "You can be the 75% who doesn't."

Steve laughs.

Steve fucking _laughs_ and Tony's world is falling apart. Tony hated himself for hoping that he could ever be loved. He hated himself so much he couldn't breathe, and he let out a broken wail because his heart was cracking, and he was in a damn _hospital_.

"You should leave." Tony whispers, shrugging a blanket back over his shoulder, heat traveling up his neck. He was Tony Stark. The fact that no one loves him shouldn't have been such a surprise. (But it was because it was a fact now. Confirmed now. True now. Real now.)

"No."

Tony tried to twist his face into an angry scowl, but finds he can't because it's taking all his energy not to cry. Instead, with a biting retort he turns to scream and shout and tear the man he loves apart-.

**Anthony Edward Stark.**

**Anthony Edward Stark** , written in black ink on Steve's hip and Anthony Edward Stark reaches a shaky, hopeful (god will he ever learn?) finger to trace _his name_.

"I love you."

The way Steve says it - all at once, in one breath, almost like it was waiting on the tip of his tongue - makes Tony's eyes water. Soundlessly, he looked up at the man he loved, and lost his breath all over again. ( But this time he feels that there may be someone to help he find it again.)

"Say it again." Tony murmurs, pressing the pad of his thumb over **Stark** , not totally sure why, but it makes his heart pound.

"I, Steven Grant Rogers." Tony feels his skin burn - fireplaces on winter nights, warmth, _love_ , spreading through his body, stitching up his heart - "love you, Anthony Edward Stark."

Tony surges up to met Steve, wrapping his arms around the older mans neck, pressing his lips to Steve's without another thought.

Tony smiles into the kiss, sagging into Steve's warm embrace, because this his the happiest he had been in forever. Steve's lips were chapped, but as soft as his voice when he was tired, warm as he hand on Tony's back, and so solid, and so real, and so _there_.

Then something warm is slipping down his chest, and Tony crumples into Steve, gasping-.

All at once the - panic, fear, crying, screaming, pain, _pain_ , _**pain**_ \- events of earlier came back, and Tony, can't think because he touched his chest, and his hand is red. His hand is red and he's dying, and _he doesn't want to anymore!_

Thick black stitches stuck out from the edges of the plaster - slowly growing red, _red_ , _**red**_ \- wrapped around his chest. Ignoring Steve's protests he tore that off too, and suddenly he couldn't feel Steve's breath on the back of his neck.

His abdomen was a mess of black and blue and thick red blood and staples - the irony of it came to him later. Tony Stark was held together by the same metal he used to to save the world. - The skin was - rough, broken, cracked, wet, numb - Tony couldn't feel anything when he dragged a finger along the black thread, but felt everything all at once when the sheets around him were turning red.

Red like the siren above his bed - ringing, flashing, screaming - Red like the way Steve's fingers were torn from his, shouting Tony, _Tony_ , _**Tony**_. Red is the last thing he sees before n o t h i n g . . .

 

❧

  
The next time Tony wakes up he's in a different room. At first his breathing is weak, slow ragged gasps followed with broken wheezing -.

He's holding Steve's hand. Well, holding isn't the right word because he's clutching Steve's ring finger with his fist?

"Don't you dare do that to me again." Steve's hand is down holding his chin up, so he can look into those sky blue eyes, and pressing his lips onto Tony's so lightly he doesn't think they're actually touching. "I just found you, and you flatlined."

He can tell Steve is joking, but the way he holds Tony's face like it might break, or how his eyes are glassy and seem to be searching Tony's for something, a life boat promise maybe?

Tony smiles, and wrapped his hands around Steve's wrists. Or tries to. His right hand stays, splayed out on white sheets, only a few fingers twitching, while the left, currently curled around Steve's forearm, tightens.

"I can't move my hand." Tony can't hear anything but the blood rushing - faster, sharper, stronger - in his ears because "I - I can't move my hand!"

Steve's eyes are comically wide, and he curls his hand around Tony's unresponsive one, whispering reassurances into his ear.

"We did everything we could."

They pull apart, and Tony feels cold, so cold, without Steve everything seems scarier.

A - red lip stick, red hair, red bracelets, red blood on her hands as she cut him together - doctor interrupted, her sympathy sticky and sedative.

Tony didn't like her.

"The nerves in your right hand were damaged, and we didn't get to you in enough time to fix it."

Tony turned his head away from her, instead looking at Steve. Hands over his eyes, Tony could see the other mans shoulders shaking. Ragged breathes escaped his lips and Tony leaned his head against Steve's elbow, whispering,  _'no_ ' on his skin.

"You're estimated to have around 20% of your original funct-"

"Get out."

Steve's eyes were dark, the color of deep water and tsunamis and broken ships and thunder. Tony had never seen him like this.

When she made no moves to leave, he stood up so quickly the plastic chair he was sitting on hit the ground.

Tony flinched.

"Get the hell out of my sight."

The sound of heels, leaving very, very quickly echoed through the now silent - suffocating, smothering, stifling - room.

Tony squeezed his eyes together, turning his head so he didn't have to look at Steve. Didn't have to see that - disappointment, dissatisfaction - Steve didn't love him anymore.

"Tony."

He didn't move. Didn't breathe.

"Tony, please look at me."

Though his heart stuttered painfully in his chest at the way Steve's voice cracked in his throat, Tony shook his head, burring his face into the white pillow beneath him so he didn't have to see the world blur around him.

"Love, please."

Steve's hands - soft, gentle, solid, there - are wrapping themselves around his shoulders, pulling him towards the super soldier.

"No. No! NO!" Tony screams, words torn from his chest as he clings to the mattress - or tries to, his _**fucking hand**_ -!

He is sobbing - loudly, angrily, pathetically - because _this isn't fair! Because he was so happy! **Because it shouldn't be this hard to die**!_

Steve is holding him against his chest, tight enough to keep him from shattering completely.

"Tony, love, please don't say that. I love you so much. I love you so so much."

Steve curls his hand around the back of Tony's neck, pressing his lips to Tony's ear, so the broken man can hear everything and his breathing.

He holds him while Tony screams, slamming his hand on Steve's chest, the other curled against Steve's sternum.

5

Tony’ s favorite part of waking up after Steve were the kisses. 

Before, a kiss meant desperation, and heat and sex. It tasted of alcohol and self destruction. Tony would think only of falling and feeling, gasping for a breath that would be swallowed by another kiss, forced so painfully into his mouth he could feel teeth against his own.

Now, Steve would press his lips lightly to Tony’s eyelids, waiting for the genius to sleepily blink up at him, before dipping down to kiss the tip of his nose. His lips touched Tony so lightly they were almost never there, allowing Steve a reason to kiss him again, even though he didn't need one. There were no words to describe the feeling of waking up to Steve smiling down at him, his laughter filing Tony up to the brim when the he hid under the sheets, rolling into Steve’s chest. The other man would then run his fingers across Tony’s face, calloused thumbs stopping on his lips, were he would finally brush his own lips across Tony’s. 

Breakfast was a family affair. 

The words still sent warmth into Tony’s chest, and the smile that followed was so wide it threatened to split his face open in the best way possible. The kitchen was set up in a way that allowed a left-handed Tony and a right-handed Steve to move comfortably, this had been a challenge at first, but their system became almost second nature. Of course, whoever bumped into the other was completely deserving of a kiss. 

Weeks before, Tony realized that among other things, Steve was an absolute god in the kitchen, and could make anything taste as if it were made of magic.When he had mentioned this Steve had told him, with flushed cheeks that he had finally learned how to cook more than scrabbled eggs to please Tony. This caused the Captain to receive a kiss made of mostly maple syrup. Even so, Tony had wanted to learn how to cook, and the look on Steve’s face after he had presented him with a pile of lopsided pancakes was worth pulling every broken piece of eggshell out of the bowl. 

Lately, Steve had taken to accompanying Tony in the(ir) workshop, curling up on the old sofa where he spent hours watching Tony work, almost effortlessly, a smile lighting up his face. Sometimes, if his hands was acting up, Tony would require that Steve would be his hands. The taller man would smile, kiss the genius and attempt to do the impossible tasks that Tony could do half asleep. Other times, he would draw. Weather it was the robots, who had taken to Steve like eager children, or the view outside the tower, to Tony himself, it was a kind of relaxing he only felt around Tony.

“Tesoro, could you come here?” Steve felt his heart skip a beat, Tony’s hair stood practically on end, the smears of grease across his forehead and left cheekbone bringing out his eyes. An old t-shirt of Steve’s hung off of one shoulder, revealing a sharp collarbone and dipped down olive colored skin. Good God, Steve had never knew someone so beautiful could exist. 

“Of course, Mo chuisle.” Tony’s face flushed at the term of endearment, causing Steve to laugh softly, pressing a kiss to the top of the shorter man’s head. “What is it?” 

The picture in front of them was torn around the edges, and soft pencil lines were smudged across each other. Light grey faded into black, where the lead had been pressed so firmly into the paper, that if he were to turn it around Steve could trace the lines. He immediately knew it was one of his own drawings. 

“Is it okay if I frame this?” 

‘This’ was a pencil sketch of the both of them kissing in front of the Empire State Building. Steve had a hand wrapped around the back of Tony’s neck, and in response, Tony had fisted Steve’s henley in his left hand, pulling the other man closer. Above them, Steve had held Tony’s damaged hand in a triumphant fist, wrapping his own fingers around Tony’s cast to help support the broken digits. 

The picture had been posted faster than it took them to break apart, and Tony had hidden in his workshop for days. Steve had been angry too. Angry that they couldn't be people, angry that this had to happen, angry that Tony had been so happy when it was just them. 

As therapy, Steve had redrawn the picture, adding subtle differences that couldn't be captured on camera. He drew how Tony’s light stubble felt on his cheek, how their love tasted on his lips. It took him hours, but when he finished, he had ran his fingers down the pencil lines, feeling the denim of Tony’s jeans, and what the cast felt like between their clasped hands.

“Steve?” Tony was looking at him with nervous eyes, his fingers drumming against the arc reactor. Every so often he would look back down at his injured hand, then at its inanimate form in the photo. Steve’s throat tightened, the backs of his eyes watering as the love he had for the man in front of him flowed through his body. He pulled Tony into his arms, his fingers brushing through the small curls resting on the shorter mans neck as Tony wrapped his arms loosely around Steve’s waist. 

“Yes.” Steve murmured into the soft brown locks, loving the way they tickled his face. “Yes, of course anamchara.” He could feel Tony relax, the flood of tension leaving his body through a long exhale against Steve’s chest, along with a quick kiss to the space between Steve’s collarbones. 

 

This was not to say that everything was perfect. 

Steve still woke up gasping for air, waiting to choice on ice water. He would shiver hard enough it felt as though his teeth would fall out, clutching the blankets to his chest. Fireworks reminded him of gunshots, and bombs and Bucky’s last moments. The ground was still ripped out from under his legs and he still had to steady himself in a world that was made up of electricity and unfamiliar faces. 

Tony still took showers, was still terrified of water and choking and the way the waves crashed over him without letting up. His hand burned now too. Instead of the pain only coming from the object shoved haphazardly into his chest, in now radiated from the destroyed nerves and splintered bone in his hand. He still flinched when people shouted, still threw his hands up when someone moved to quickly. Tony was not always sure of his worth, still hated the scars on his arms, and worried if others did too. 

But it was okay.

Because Tony was warm, and full off life and knew just how to stop the cold from coming in. Tony could wrap his arms around Steve and trail his fingers over his soul mark, sending small flames into Steve’s chest until he could talk without his teeth chattering. Fireworks reminded Tony of bombs too, and their workshop was almost sound tight enough that they could play ACDC and movies from the 40’s together. 

With Steve next to him, Tony could swim, clinging to the other man with white knuckles and a shaky smile, they would lounge in hot tubs, and apparently, if Tony sat on top of Steve, his head was the perfect distance away from the water. On bad days, Steve could ran his fingers down Tony’s, soothing the pain with gentle touches. He never went more than a few hours without a soft reminder whispered against his skin, reminding him of the love he deserved. 

Steve’s favorite part about waking up before Tony was the blissful happiness he felt, arms wrapped around his soulmate. The feeling of the other mans pulse under his lips when his kissed him, softly enough that he could do it again, for the rest of their lives.


End file.
